Dark Thirst
by an inkling
Summary: A dark, supernatural romance based on the world created by Christine Feehan. Reviews welcome.
1. Chapter 1

A trail of glowing light twisted and turned as far as the eye could see, twinkling behind sparse branches. By day, the ground was a carpet of rich russet, flaming orange and brilliant gold, but by night the surround of the palatial destination existed in velvety darkness. The earthy musk of autumn clung to the air, teasing with the memory of summer, allowing the feminine guests to still bare their shoulders with a reason beyond the scope of fashion.

The sprawling grounds, as meticulously manicured as their owner, boasted gardens so flawless that some believed the roses had been painted by masters. There were whispers among the posh partygoers that their host possessed plush green walkways, where a length of carpet was rolled out, so it could not be marred beneath treading feet.

People traveled far and wide to attend the soirees held by the Viscount DeSurrey. His European title intrigued his American guests, as did his old money. He held festivities on the grandest scale. It felt like being transported into another era, long ago, and even those opposed to his less favorable qualities had to admit that the opulence was worth their host's cold, austere behavior.

The very best of New England's society could be found in attendance. Of course, another type of Society existed for Andrew DeSurrey. A fanatical one, bent with purpose and a zealot's frightening righteousness.

All manners of Society were captivated by the Viscount. After all, he kept his property with all the care given to the finest treasure. And, he kept his crown jewel on an ornate pedestal, out of touch, yet in plain sight where it was certain to be admired, if not envied.

While the guests arrived, the Viscount's crown jewel sat in perfect posture before an oversized marble vanity. The mirror reflected a petite, doll-like woman from several angles and although she gazed into her own remarkable lavender eyes, she did not appear to truly see anything at all.

She wore long, dark hair down and completely unadorned. In fact, she left a tiny tiara set in glistening diamonds atop the cool vanity, discarded, disdained.

She would not wear it.

Tonight was the last night, she decided. Tonight, when Andrew least expected it, Estessa was going to leave. Run away. Painstaking preparation had been made. All she had to do was cross through the woods, find the hiking pack she stashed and...vanish. Her stomach clenched in fear, but her smooth features did not betray her.

Estessa stood, allowing only a scant glance to the fine perfection of her brilliant white gown. It shimmered beneath the soft flickers of candlelight, outlining her small, curving figure splendidly. The bodice, fitted loveliness, tapered to a little waist that flared into soft, curving hips. The rest of her figure could be guessed at, hidden beneath the voluminous sweep of the skirts, under which only the very tips of tiny silk slippers sometimes peeked. The Viscount spared no expense to her wardrobe, and for every article of clothing, she had a matching set of gloves.

She _always_ wore gloves. Dainty gloves of the finest kid. Tonight, in pure white.

She met the Viscount at the top of the grand, swirling marble staircase. He waited there in suitable perfection, not a strand out of place, his cold grey eyes assessed her as they'd done a thousand times, with a quick cursory scan. Only when Andrew felt certain it would make her uncomfortable did he award her with a lingering gaze. Estessa was met with his satisfaction and she knew this by the pensive way he studied the glossy half-moons of his manicured fingernails.

He murmured to her, "My dear, you are _nearly_ complete..."

This was his method of subtle admonishment for her misconduct in lacking the tiara. Estessa answered without words, only risking to meet his eyes briefly before sweeping her gaze down toward the throng that assembled through the wide, arching doors. The Viscount smirked and understood well enough that the girl exercised an attempt to shrug off his restraints.

"Very well," he allowed aristocratically, waving his hand as he donned his gloves and began a straight-backed descent of the stairs. He paused and held a hand to her and she obliged, slipping her slender gloved fingers into his grasp and accompanying him in a heralded entrance to those who awaited below. The Viscount graciously accepted his guests, although he practiced minimal conversation.

Estessa received no one and simply stood like any other of a number of ornaments he possessed. If she was aware (and she was) of any sets of eyes roaming appreciatively or sometimes enviously over her, she gave no indication of it. Once in a great while, she met the eyes of people as they passed. After all, she had a job to do. The Viscount had alternative reasons for holding these events, well beyond those to showcase his wealth.

The Viscount's study had molded Estessa into a very specialized little hunter. Her psychic gifts had proven covetous to three vampires, so far. Her very presence lured them into The Society's traps. What Andrew (and the Society) had not understood was they had yet to deal with an Ancient. It was a matter of time before this luck ran out.

Andrew glanced around at his prize from a slight distance, although he quickly looked away again because she wore a most subtle smile, her lash-fringed eyes cast demurely to the side as she watched some distant figure pluck a stem from a centerpiece.

The Viscount suffered a white hot, soul-severing moment of recollection, and a sneer briefly curled his arrogant upper lip. He _hated _her when she reminded him of Eleanor.

The girl's older sister had been his cherished wife and the Viscount had loved Eleanor, in his skewed manner. At the very least, he held her prized and cherished and had painstakingly won her fair hand. But ten years ago, when Estessa was still a strange, haunted, wide-eyed child barely hinting at the blossom she'd become, her sister had found a secret passion, her true lifemate. A Carpathian.

Eleanor had confided this forbidden love to Estessa, filling the girl's head with flower-laced visions of beauty and romance. But still...forbidden. By every law outside of the Carpathians' unique society, Eleanor belonged to Andrew DeSurrey.

Little Estessa had tried to warn her sister, her young life had been plagued with impressions of others. All she had to do was _touch_ and she could read imprints of thoughts and emotions as easily as she could recite poetry from a page. This was the reason she covered her cursed hands in gloves.

Estessa _felt_ her brother-in-law's rage when he discovered Eleanor planned to leave him, that night, to abandon him so she could be with her true lifemate. Little Estessa begged Eleanor to wait. To wait until the day was over, until the sun had set, to tell Andrew the truth.

Foolish, excited, Eleanor did not wait. Estessa watched from a hidden place while her sister confessed to Andrew. The Viscount's face remained impassive, at first.

Where Eleanor saw beauty and boundless pleasure, the Viscount saw her Carpathian mate as a taster of blood, a usurper of life, a Vampire of legend. Eleanor had made her choice, and when the Viscount understood that his beautiful flower was about to hand herself over to the thorn, he bade her to grant him one last good-bye, and with Estessa watching from her hiding place, he sliced Eleanor's pretty throat like butter beneath his precise blade. His rage showed, then. And he looked to the spot, where, too horrified to scream, Estessa emerged. She flew at him, and when she touched him, she learned that the Viscount knew she'd been watching all along.

Eleanor died, bleeding, on the floor, in a patch of bright sunlight. What became of her lifemate, Estessa never knew, because afterward, the Viscount vanished to the United States, with Estessa, still a tender child, in shielded tow. He spent vast resources on the Society, determined to wipe all manners of Vampire from the world.

Andrew exploited Estessa's gift-curse of her hands like it was his to command, depriving her of the gloves until she thought she'd go mad. Along the way he impressed upon the girl that her sister's death was attributed to Estessa's failure to inform him of Eleanor's affair. Through this, he taught her to hate Vampires and wish them into extinction.

The Viscount shot another glance toward his prodigy, and she knew the warning. The little smile fell slack on her beautiful features. She was the only woman in attendance at the masquerade that lacked a mask or headdress of some kind, and she was also the only woman wearing white. It was the single, infamous rule of the Viscount's galas.

No one was to wear white. No one but Estessa.

And so the angelic vision swept down the last two stairs and through a crowd that parted without a need for her to break stride. Estessa positioned herself before the musicians and the choir drew to a harmonious close. Without warning or fanfare her voice rose above the hushed murmurs of the crowd, garnering the attention of every soul in attendance.

She sang in a dead language, a haunting melody without the need of embellishment. When it ended, the audience clung to the lingering of her final note and paused in breathless anticipation of more. But she left them disappointed and they finally acquiesced with regal applause.

Estessa stepped down and slipped out, a little blur of white, through an alcove that lead to the hedge maze, not yet lit for the guests to enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

The figure holding the rose brushed it across his burnished-silver, expressionless mask. He tipped the bloom toward Estessa, watching the exchange with Andrew, watching the Viscount sneer. Behind the mask, his dark eyes glittered, and although no emotion could possibly be conveyed through the simple, hinted-at lines of a mouth, there seemed to be some brand of amusement in his eyes. Tall, with rich, dark hair, broad shoulders and a bold stance, he turned heads, even though the features of his face remained a mystery.

A woman, her hair piled in an elaborate series of braids, floated near. She bent forward, allowing a generous portion of her powdered décolletage to spill into the masked man's view. He didn't know her name, didn't need to or care to, but he did inhale her perfume, and the scent of her intoxication beneath it. She shuddered pleasurably under the scrutiny of his gaze, shaking her head to show off the peacock feathers decorating a half-mask.

Her champagne giggle seemed obscene, sounding through lips painted a shiny, vulgar red, but her lips looked black, to Symon. Behind his mask, Symon's pointy smile broadened. He offered her an arm, all dashing, old world charm, and she took it, walking her perfect, lacquered fingernails up his sleeve. Symon lead the woman into the ballroom, his head dipped toward her as though he cared to listen to her coy words. He glanced up again, in time to see Estessa, still at the top of the stairs.

Just as Symon began to make a gracious show of handing over the rose, he stopped...faltered, really, and reeled. The woman turned fully into him, a giggle dying before it could bubble from her lips.

"Darling? Are you all right?" Her question sounded like it came through a throat made of tin, it warbled and faded. Symon's stunned gaze shifted to her, to her lips, still black. He looked at the rose again. The color of a heart, of a perfect, poison apple, of blood. Blood, so pure he could taste it, smell it.

His new companion paled and she frowned, looking older, somehow, the fluffy feathers around her eye-mask drooping. Symon pulled away from her and looked up again, this time finding Estessa descending the staircase.

_ Estessa. _He knew her name instantly, heard it whispered wordlessly, in weak, human thoughts. He watched her, completely riveted this time, unable to peel his gaze away. She wore white. But her skin seemed to glow, fair, like the palest peach. Her eyes, a strangely pale violet, flashed over the crowd. Her hair, darkness with gold threaded through it, fell free over the delicate line of her shoulders.

She walked right past him, in splendid, glorious color. He reached a greedy hand out to touch her, but a growl sounded in his mind, preventing the contact. Symon snarled in response, eliciting a frightened cry from the woman trying to tend him, and causing a stir among the immediate people surrounding where he stood.

Another one watched from within the crowd. Another one, tall, elegant, imposing. But instead of a mask, he stood swathed in shadow, wearing the darkness like it was tailor-made. He, too, looked up toward where the host of the event stood. And then, in perfect stillness he remained, as in a beat of time, waiting for a breath that would never be drawn.

Beautiful, powerful Ivan. Centuries had passed; centuries, where the only passion in existence came from the culmination of the hunt, where the only colors lived in ancient memories, and where the only reason not to embrace the mounting darkness was to deliver his twin from it. Ages ago, Ivan had buried the hope of finding his lifemate, he put it to ground in the way of humans, in a grave deep within him.

And, two hundred years ago, when Symon succumbed to the darkest dread of their race, Ivan dug up that buried hope and murdered it. When a rare Carpathian female was born, he no longer cared to calculate at what point she'd become of age, or consider that she might be the light...his light.

Even when his Prince found and successfully claimed his lifemate (a human!) and the forbidden became possibility, even then, Ivan only sought Symon. From their youngest years, there existed a promise between them, if one should turn, the other must slay him and then swallow the sun.

But now, that dormant place within him, the place where he'd buried and smothered hope, suddenly sparked alive, flaring through him, assaulting his eyes with color and igniting emotion. Ivan saw her eyes first, even at a distance, he saw the unusual shade of her eyes, like amethyst. Helpless, he could only study Estessa's face, commit to memory every delicate angle and curve. Need, desire and undeniable instinct consumed him. This floodgate raged so strong, that it spilled over...into his twin.

While Estessa wound through the crowd, heading for the orchestra, Ivan launched toward Symon, a blur too fast to be conceived by human eyes. The brothers evaporated into a wispy, twisting mist, spinning out of the room with a flutter of exquisite drapery and a rattling of windows. The feather-bedecked woman gasped and collapsed into a dead faint, with a few people gathering around her to attend. Andrew's servants quickly detected the disturbance, and gallantly whisked the woman away for care.

The swirling, slashing brawl extended well outdoors, landing in the center of the hedge maze. Claws slashed and tore, fangs snapped air as the brothers attacked, frenzied beasts. Ivan, in an inconceivably huge wolven form, thrust a sharp, sabre-like claw clean through Symon, aiming for his heart, but falling lower when Symon attempted to leap out of the way. The vampire's toxic blood scorched the grass. While Ivan had Symon impaled there, he lifted another claw to tear at Symon's heart, but a sound filled his ears, filled his mind, stalling him.

Estessa's voice, sweet and pure, penetrated through vicious layers of Carpathian and vampiric rage.

Ivan's confusion seeped into his brother, and Symon wasted no time in taking advantage of the hesitation, dislodging himself from Ivan's claw with a slick, sickening lurch. The brothers stood at odds, fierce, frightening beasts with flaming eyes and feral snarls.

"You know who she is, what she is..." rasped Symon around a mouthful of deadly, pointed teeth. "She is my--"

"No!" Ivan roared, cutting him off. "**I **see the colors! **I**feel! _Not _you, Symon!" He had not called his brother by name since Symon turned.

Symon laughed, an eerie, mirthless sound. He gestured toward a stone dais at the center of the clearing, there in the center of the maze. Tangled around it, a bramble of roses bloomed.

"Gold," said Symon. "Petals of gold." Symon grinned, a horrible, twisted version of Ivan.

"No," Ivan repeated, wanting to disbelieve. But those roses _were_ gold, shimmering under the beam of the moon. "You see through _me._ She is mine. It is too _late_ for you." Ivan hung onto control by a filament.

The brothers turned, simultaneously, scenting the air. Humans. Vampire slayers who did not discern between true vampires and Carpathians. And another scent, sweet, irresistible.

Estessa.

The pair launched, one target, one prize, one need consuming them both.


	3. Chapter 3

It always struck Estessa with a sense of irony, how the night seemed charged with life, when she knew death stalked near. The very air felt charged, something Estessa sensed in a physical way, the tips of her fingers tingling, even within the protection of her gloves. The time had come, perhaps now or never, and despite a looming fear, she also felt a strange exhilaration of possibility, of hope. She rushed across the immaculate lawn, past the hedge maze and toward the slope that lead to the edge of a forest.

Her slippers felt slick against the dewy grass, and she stumbled and wished she could have planted the pack closer, but she knew it would have been too great a risk. Andrew's men made frequent sweeps of the property and it could have been found.

A strange sense of liberty came over her. Hours had been spent dreaming of escape, and now she ran, her lungs burning with the effort, but a welcomed burn. But Estessa promised herself there'd be no celebration of freedom until she put several miles, states and possibly countries between herself and Andrew DeSurrey.

As her eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness, further from the gala, Estessa could make out the mouth of the forest. That's just what it felt like, she thought. Like a mouth. A gaping maw, waiting for prey. Beneath a pair of weeping willow trees, she'd hidden her stash.

_ Just make it that far. Just make it that far. _

A new sensation spread through Estessa, just before she reached the slope. She slowed and paused, gulping air that chilled her overheated skin. Was this a runner's adrenaline rush? No, she realized. Estessa searched the night. Someone, something was coming. Had she underestimated Andrew?

Not unless Andrew possessed glowing, red, demonic eyes. She saw this in the distance, but it closed in fast. Estessa choked back a cry of fear and ran blindly toward the slope. She half slid, half ran down, down toward the forest nestled in this valley.

Oh, God, the trees still seemed so far away! Had she come this close to freedom, only to be caught by a vampire, after all? Estessa could have sworn she felt something graze her shoulder, like burning cold fingers, touching her skin. She hardly had time to plan her reaction, and could have surprised no one less than herself when she stopped and spun around, balling her gloved hands into fists and assuming a challenging stance.

"Come no closer!" She called out, trying to sound strong, trying to mask her alarm. Her gaze found nothing but darkness this time. But she heard the voice, and it tricked her, seeming to emanate from every direction at once.

Thunder rumbled and lightning veined across the sky, teasing Estessa with a split second of vision.

"Peace, sweetling. It is not my intention to harm..." The voice, seductive as a caress, chuckled darkly. The tips of Estessa's fingers tingled again, and she relaxed her fists only to return circulation. Another brilliant blast of lightning struck so near that Estessa felt it resonate up from the earth. A gusty wind picked up, whipping the fabric of her gown to swish around her. Tendrils of her hair floated in front of her vision.

"To hxll with your intentions," she growled in response. "Show yourself or leave," she demanded, narrowing her eyes, struggling to find the source. Much closer than Estessa had wished, a shadowy mist took the shape of a man. Estessa could only distinguish that he stood tall and broad. His features appeared distorted at first, sending a shiver of fear down her spine.

Estessa backed away as she watched him shimmer into existence, but then another extraordinary thing happened. Suddenly, her fright became overwhelmed by a sense of rage. Nature raged as well, the sudden storm growing in ferocity, whirling leaves and breaking branches. She felt this sensation roar to life inside her, like the storm came from within, so powerful that her head swam with the assault of it. And just as she thought her blood could boil with it no more, the man laughed again, low and mocking.

"Ah, no...this anger is not yours to bear, my sweet. Is it?" As if his words released her from a spell, Estessa felt the build of fury immediately vanish, although the storm did not. She held her head and staggered back, reeling from the intensity.

_ Come to me_, commanded the strange, exotic voice, invading her mind, tearing through her distracted defenses. But as the man extended his hand, Estessa backed away. She heard a distinct growl, but it seemed to come from behind her. The air pulsed with energy, as if an electrical current sparked and threatened to ignite.

_ I'm warning you, Symon... _

Symon? The voice changed, somehow, when it spoke that time into her head, but Estessa feared it was vampiric trickery, trying to take advantage of her confusion.

"No!" Estessa shouted, determined to shut the intruder out. She called on the facade of calm she had relied upon so often before Andrew.

_ Come to me. _Again, inside her head, uninvited._ Now. _

Pain, bright white and searing, blossomed in Estessa's mind. Even before she could process it, or struggle against it, a blur came from somewhere behind her, tackling into the ethereal stranger before he could take even one step toward her. The pain ceased at once and Estessa meant to run, but something anchored her in place. A downpour began, the rain felt cold and pelting.

Two shadows battled, tangling and roaring, slashing without mercy. Estessa stood transfixed by the violence of it until a harsh command issued to her from one of the fearsome creatures in the brawl.

"Go!"

In a heartbeat, the fray was behind her and, disoriented and unsure how she'd turned in that direction, Estessa made for the swaying, bending trees. Guttural, beast-like sounds warped and echoed into the night. Estessa rushed for the forest, stumbling over a tree root and tearing her gown. Her gloves smeared in mud. Something scraped painfully against her knee, but she ignored it and ran for the willow trees. Beneath the veil of branches, she found the mound of leaves where she'd hidden her bag.

Estessa dug through it, wiping away debris and struggling to hold back damp strands of hair from her eyes. Her breathing sounded gasping and ragged to her own ears. She fumbled with zippers, unable to get a decent hold through the gloves, but she did not dare to remove them.

_ Calm. Focus. _

Estessa paused. In her heightened state, she could not discern between her own inner voice, or that of another, invading. Everything had gone wrong, she felt sure of it, and there would still be Andrew to contend with, if she survived this night. To run from and finally be free of Andrew was one thing...but to escape vampires was another. The gravity of her situation hit Estessa just as she realized that the storm had stopped.


	4. Chapter 4

Ivan attacked Symon without holding back. The brothers needed no words, each knowing the stakes and striking out viciously to win. Not until Symon sensed the depth of his twin's aggression did he realize that his chances suffered. Centuries ago, when they were young and inseparable, they sparred and trained together every night. They anticipated one another's moves, fought their foes side by side. Symon always thought he knew where Ivan would strike before even Ivan knew. But this time was different. This time Ivan had something to lose beyond himself and this made him wild and unpredictable. Deadly.

Before Ivan could pin him, Symon pulled back, distancing himself from the forest that Ivan sought so desperately to protect.

"You have been learning, brother," heaved the vampire, an ugly, pulsing gash opened across his chest where Ivan had gone for his heart. "But I have lessons to teach you yet."

"My brother is dead," replied Ivan, his voice low, even and laced with menace.

Symon laughed and receded into shadows before Ivan could reach him again.

"Dead? For tonight, perhaps. But there are other nights."

Ivan lunged, but Symon vanished, leaving nothing but scorched earth in his wake.

The storm subsided and Ivan turned toward the forest. He shifted, a seamless blend of darkness, into his huge wolven form. He caught Estessa's scent easily, recognizing it as though it had been imprinted within him. Ivan realized that it had, because this woman was his lifemate. His Carpathian eyes registered the emerald hues of the trees, even in the shroud of night.

And he could _feel. _He felt a tumult of emotions from her and, in private, savored each one.

Instinctively, even while he fought, Ivan had reached out to Estessa, sent her commands and impressions. But now, as he came near the canopy of willow boughs where she hid, he sensed her fear. And something else: a resounding strength that lived within her.

The enormous black wolf huffed against the ground, scenting the place where Estessa fell and cut her knee. A trace of her blood was enough to bring Ivan's blood to heated, frenzied life. Ivan silently crossed to the willow trees, his nature demanding that he claim his mate in the way of his kind.

Estessa did not, at first, see the dark muzzle that parted a section of willow branches behind her. Just like when she first began to run, she sensed a presence behind her, but this time she refused it, refused to believe it real or give it credence by turning to regard it. Instead, she plunged a mud-slicked glove into the bag and pulled out a blade. The knife had an evil, curving point and felt weighty in her hand.

Crafted of silver, the blade gleamed in the slivers of moonlight penetrating through leaves. Estessa wrapped her fingers around the hilt, testing the weapon. She thought it felt like sin and death.

Other items lay in the bag, including another weapon, practical clothing, cash, water and fruit. The other weapon, she did not touch, simply because she hadn't enough time to examine it yet. It was a gun, pilfered from a desk drawer and hastily included in her pack. Estessa had rudimentary knowledge of guns from watching Andrew's men handle them, but holding one and firing it, she knew, would be different from observing.

Observing.

Watching.

Watched.

Suddenly Estessa's fear of being watched manifested into something else, something tangible, like she could feel a gaze on the exposed skin of her back. Adrenaline burst through her veins and Estessa stood, steady as she could manage. Maybe she was wrong, she hoped. Perhaps she would turn and there'd be no one there. But, some way, she knew.

Estessa turned her head slowly, pausing in profile, where Ivan, still as a wolf, could see her lower lip tremble. Primal emotions coursed through him, holding him fast where he stood, his amber eyes huge and lit from within. He saw her precious, small, gloved fingers tighten around the handle of the weapon she held, ready to attack or defend. His gaze traced the shape of her face, every nuance and detail on which he had not yet had the privilege to dwell.

She turned and her breath caught in her throat. The wolf was massive, a beast of mythical proportions. Ivan inhaled her fear and didn't miss the stirring beneath it. Estessa trembled, helpless to prevent it. A man, yes...a vampire, even, but she had not expected this creature.

When she spoke, her voice came out barely as a whisper.

"Stay."

Estessa thrust the blade outward, gesturing away.

"I mean, go!" She corrected and shuffled backward until the rough bark of the willow scratched her skin.

Ivan heard her heart beating, he saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest. In response, he lowered his head and paced closer. Estessa slashed outward with the knife.

"Back!" This wolf was going to shred her. Eat her, tear her limb from limb, right there in the dark, beautiful forest, beneath a willow tree.

Unless she could kill it first. Estessa pointed the blade like a gun, using both hands. But still, the beast drew near, forcing her to inch to the side of the tree trunk, where she lost her footing over her own bag. Instantly the wolf leapt to her, its huge forepaws landing on either side of her. Ivan loomed above Estessa and lowered his muzzle.

Their eyes connected, his a low lit amber and hers a most unusual shade of violet. This little human woman held Ivan captive with nothing more than her eyes, as if all beauty in the world could be found there, calling to him, promising him all he'd secretly desired and never known.

Her scent consumed him and he bared his teeth with the effort to maintain control. A deep noise, half growl, half purr, came from his throat. She had the face of an angel, the courage of a lion, the frailty of a human.

She also had a very, very sharp knife.

Ivan felt the blade pierce his skin and sink into muscle a moment before he shifted.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Estessa felt the hot, wet coating of blood trickle down over her wrist, just past the cuff of her glove, and she held onto the hilt of the blade with some odd sense that if she kept it there, the massive beast above her wouldn't be able to move.

The strangest memory surfaced then, her subconscious calling it up from some tucked away corner of her mind, its clarity so precise that Ivan saw it in his own mind's eye. She remembered how it felt, at night, after her sister's murder, when she lay in bed and heard every noise outside her bedroom door, thinking it was Andrew, with the same knife that killed her sister.

Estessa hated the fear, the guilt, the _weakness. _In her memory, she saw herself as a young girl, curled up as small as possible, trying to make herself invisible, imagining Andrew standing outside the door, waiting. For her. She'd held the covers of her bed, twisted up in her gloved hands. If only she held tight enough, still enough, the monster would go away.

And now she held a weapon, tight enough, still enough.

Estessa opened her eyes, for the first time realizing that she'd ever shut them. Instead of staring up into the face of a wolf, she looked at a man. A beautiful man, his strong, dark brows knit together and his sculpted upper lip curled into a sneer as though he suffered some kind of annoyance. Some trifling annoyance. A knife plunged into his abdomen, up to the hilt, for instance.

Ivan held himself with one hand against the ground, poising above Estessa. He wrapped his other hand around Estessa's glove, right where she gripped the knife. She made some slight sound of protest, but Ivan hushed her by tightening his grasp and dislodging the blade, grunting as he did so. To protect her, he managed his connection to her mind carefully. During the fray with Symon, he learned of her susceptibility to his newfound emotions, and, suspecting she would also be sensitive to physical sensation, he shielded her from his pain.

"You're not dead," observed Estessa.

In characteristic response, Ivan arched one brow.

"No, I am not," he agreed.

"I stabbed you." Estessa sounded calm and reasonable, but Ivan felt her inner tremor of alarm. He had to hand it to her, though. She disguised it well.

"You did." Had Ivan expected his lifemate to gasp in remorse at the realization of what she'd done? Perhaps, at least a little.

"Are you a werewolf?" She asked, testing his hold, her hand and Ivan's still wrapped around the handle of the knife.

"No." Ivan shook his head, less an answer to her question and more an attempt to clear his mind of Estessa's swirling thoughts.

Estessa became very still.

"Then what are you? Not a vampire." He couldn't be, Estessa guessed, or his blood would have burned her.

"Vampire..." Ivan barked a short laugh and finally lifted away from her. Without hesitation, Estessa used this as an opportunity to strike, forcing Ivan to stay her hand and deflect the attempt with ease. The Carpathian stood, hauling his insubordinate little lifemate up with him.

"Stop," ordered Ivan, wrenching the weapon away and hurling it well into the trunk of a far off tree. He held her wrist until she twisted with such violence that he feared she might injure herself. Ivan allowed Estessa a measured amount of space. Holding her gaze, he slowly bent to scoop a handful of earth.

While Estessa calculated the paces and seconds it could take her to reach the gun in her pack, Ivan spat into his palm and smeared the mixture over the wound over his abdomen.

"What are you doing?" She asked partly out of curiosity and partly as distraction. She took a tiny step back, the slightest of movements, but Ivan's keen eyes missed nothing. He smirked.

"After your success with the knife," he said, pushing moist earth where Estessa stabbed him, "do you really think you would fare better with a gun?"

Estessa stiffened. How could he know that?

"What gun?"

Coy little minx, thought Ivan. He didn't bestow her with an answer. Instead, he ripped a portion of his shirt, pulled the strip tight and moved toward her.

Every cell in her body screamed for her to run, but Estessa held her ground, gloved fists clenched. She found herself staring at his shredded and soiled shirt, right where the knife pierced. At his full height, Ivan towered over Estessa and she slowly lifted her gaze to meet the intensity of his dark eyes.

A thrill of panic coursed through her and her throat went dry. She winced, but to her credit, she still did not back down. Her vision flickered to the strip of fabric he held taut, too afraid to truly wonder. Estessa sensed Ivan's predatory nature, he exuded strength and danger, she saw that she was outmatched...but give up?

Never.

"I will fight you," she informed him, her voice textured with sincerity and fear.

His expression unfathomable, Ivan snapped the strip between his hands and then suddenly dropped to one knee, where he gathered a fistful of her gown and raised it, pressing the wad of ruined silk against her belly, urging Estessa to hold it up.

"Of that, I have no doubt," he replied in a wry tone.

Outraged, Estessa threw the hemline down, half onto Ivan, but he caught it up and pressed the skirts against her again.

"Don't you _dare_!" She sputtered, ferocious and seething, whatever emotions that had been held in check now given all freedom.

But to Estessa's utter astonishment, this dark stranger, this not-quite-human, not-quite-werewolf, not-quite-vampire rather tenderly examined the oozing scrape on her knee. She voiced a yelp of protest when Ivan spit on the strip of cloth before securing it.

"Silence," he commanded. The corners of Estessa's pretty mouth turned down into a deep scowl.

Ivan lingered a moment, right where he knelt. The scent of her blood went straight to his head. He felt dizzied by it and he struggled to contain his desire and subdue the fangs lengthening in his mouth.

"Who are you?" asked Estessa, ignoring his demand. He stood again and Estessa craned her neck to keep their vision locked. More interested now in discovery, she forgot all about having her skirts gathered up to her thighs until, in a bold move, Ivan clasped her, stretching his long fingers up the nape of her neck, threading through her soft hair.

He tilted her head back and traced the line of her jaw, his control visibly wavering. Ivan realized he may have found his counterpart, the only one to complete his soul, but until he fully claimed her, he was more deadly than ever.

"Someone to obey." Ivan's eyes flashed like flames, probably daring, possibly begging for her to defy him. He held her there, every pump of her heart resounding, throbbing in his skull.

_Sleep, _he intoned suddenly, a direct connection into Estessa's vulnerable mind. Ivan issued this order with enough of a push necessary to rend Estessa to fall limp within his arms.


End file.
